


A Turtle of a Different Color

by Ikara



Series: Splinter's Reflections [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Family, Gen, Turtle Tots, turtle cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikara/pseuds/Ikara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamato Yoshi reflects on his turtle tots and the masks he chose for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Turtle of a Different Color

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: It may surprise you to know that I don’t own any Ninja rats, adorable mutant turtle tots, cats in silly striped hats, or Treasure Island. It may equally surprise you to know that I wrote all this fluff for free.

Hamato Yoshi inhaled deeply, taking in the calming scent of herbal tea wafting from his steaming cup.  The porcelain was chipped along the rim and had many cracks where it had obviously been glued back together many times, so much so that most would have simply thrown it out and gotten something new (in truth he had acquired it because someone already had). But he was not like most, far from it actually, and as such he had learned that the value of things went much deeper than their appearance. His own family stood as testament to that.  

Using his four-fingered hands, he brought the fragile cup up to his snout and took a sip, carefully avoiding contact with his overly large incisors.  There were many things he had needed to relearn since he had found himself transformed into a large rodent. Even the simple act of drinking his afternoon tea had been a bit of a challenge. But he was a man who had been raised with the philosophy that challenges were to be met, not shied from.

 Many things had changed in his life; he had lost his home, his wife and infant daughter, and found himself over six thousand miles away from his homeland, forced to live underground in an abandoned subway station in a strange city. Yes, much had changed in his life, but despite all the hardships he was still the same man he always was… even if that man was now a rat.

   Changing species had not been what he had in mind when he left Japan in order to start a new life in America. Neither was becoming a single father of four. But he could not complain. His sons were still small and had a lot to learn, but already he could tell they had great potential and were on their way to becoming truly remarkable young men… Well, so to speak.

    He had purchased four baby turtles from a corner pet shop on a whim, with hopes that having something to care for would make his new home seem less empty. He had certainly gotten his wish;  The same strange substance that had mutated him into his rodent form had transformed his new pets as well, causing them to grow in size and altered their shape until they were what he could only guess was the equivalent of four, one-year old human children.

In the six years that followed he would discover that turtles had been altered not only with human shape but intelligence as well.   Knowing that the world above would never accept them and may even try to do them great harm should their existence be discovered, Hamato Yoshi decided to train each of them in the ancient art of Ninjitsu in order to teach them to hide in the shadows and protect themselves.  It was a skill that had been taught to him by his father and his father before him. In fact, the Hamato clan had a long history in the ways of the Ninja, going back countless generations. It was a tradition that he had lost all hope of passing on.

 But he should have known better; there is always hope- just not always in the way one expects. He had once heard the expression that in life, when one door closes, another opens, and with it, new possibilities await.  For some reason, fate had decreed that for him this would entail a family of mutant turtles.

Family... He could no longer in good conscious consider them merely pets. Having raised them with care, watching them grow and develop their own distinct personalities, he was not at all hesitant to call them his sons.  In turn, they called him Father, Sensei, and even the nickname from his youth, “Splinter.”

At first, the challenge of teaching martial arts to four young mutants had seemed like a daunting one; Ninjitsu required a fluidity of movement, speed and stealth- things that were not commonly attributed to turtles.  While their shells were now far more flexible than their unmutated forms, he worried that it would still hinder their ability to achieve the full range of motion needed to successfully perform such physically demanding techniques. He was at a loss as to how he could tailor the more difficult forms and katas- ones that had remained unchanged throughout his clan’s history- to better suit his sons.

 When he had decided to begin anew in the self-acclaimed “Land of Opportunity” he had entertained the idea of opening up a small dojo, but the thought of altering his teaching methods from the ones that he himself had learned had never even crossed his mind, but then again, neither had the possibility of students who were not human. 

 Fortunately, his doubts had been short lived for his turtle sons proved to be very adept; none of them saw their shells as a handicap and more than once the Ninjitsu master had found himself humbled at how the young turtles used their natural armor to their advantage.

  Indeed, he was not ashamed to admit that his students were making far more progress than he had anticipated, even more so than he had managed at such a young age.  He was so impressed that when they had turned seven, he decided their efforts deserved to be rewarded- and he knew exactly what that reward should be;

A Shinobi Shouzoku- the mark of a fully-fledged Ninja. The right to wear this uniform was awarded to those who had proven their worth and mastered the ways of the shadow warrior. It was a time honored rite of passage. To be bestowed on ones so young was unheard of. His sons still had a long way to go before they could be considered true Ninja, but their accomplishments were great, and since there was no one else around to protest the breach of tradition, he felt no harm in making this exception.  

Unfortunately, due to his sons’ shells and the lack of abundant fabric, he’d had to forgo the idea of making the entire outfits and settled on just the Fukumen- the masks. 

Originally, he had thought to fashion the masks after the maroon one he had been presented with by his own father, one that all sons of the Hamato clan had worn for generations, showing their unity through uniformity. Nostalgic as that would have been, it did not fit right in his mind.  As much as he had come to adore the young kame, he knew that, had he been still a man, free to live in the human world, they would have no place in his clan or homeland.  They would never be seen as anything more than kappa yokai; river monsters. Sadly, had he not been mutated himself, it was a view that he knew he would share.

His past would always be a part of who he was, who he would continue to be, and yet it had to remain where it was, in the past.  His life had changed, the ways to which he was accustomed no longer existed- But he was Ninja, and nothing if not adaptable.

While his sons displayed a great sense of unity, uniformity was not something that applied to them.  As a man, he observed their differences in personality and behavior. As a master of Ninjitsu, one who was also well versed in the meditative practice of Qigong as well as the healing art of Reiki, he observed their differences in spirit and identified the chakras that were the most prominent in their auras.  As a father (and a mutant himself) he did not wish his sons to feel shame for their differences, but rather to celebrate them and so he had decided that each of his sons’ masks should be unique, symbolizing their individual strengths.

It was simple enough to do, taking inspiration from masked heroes in the picture books that three of his four sons favored, he tore strips of fabric from old shirts and bed linens that he had found in charity donation boxes during some of his late night excursions topside for supplies and added holes for the eyes.

 He chose a different color for each son, and the rat had no difficulty whatsoever in deciding which colors best represented the four turtles:

 

Leonardo was the oldest, or at least he acted like it.  At times it seemed like he was in a hurry to grow up.  He would show the same childish, wide eyed awe and fascination whenever he came upon something new, just as his brothers did, but the moment he realized eyes were upon him, he would force his features into a more serious expression (it was a comical sight in Splinter’s opinion.) He was also the least likely of the four to cause trouble unless antagonized, and the most well-mannered. Even from an early age it seemed that he was determined to prove himself the most mature of the turtles…

When Splinter had gotten over the initial shock of being mutated, one of his first concerns was how he was going to provide for the four tiny turtle children who, despite being much greater in size than they had been when he had first purchased them, were still entirely dependent on him for survival.

 Luckily, the sewers that he had taken refuge in were filled with protein rich worms and copious amounts of algae- that foul smelling blessing was full of nutrition for his turtle sons.  Since his children enjoyed slurping, he tried to imagine he was serving udon and pickled napa, a dish his mother had often served back in his youth during the summer, but this proved difficult when the “noodles” kept trying to squirm their way off the plates.  As repulsive as he found his sons’ food source to be, he was even more disgusted by their eating habits;

Michelangelo, just as he did with everything else, associated eating time with play time, and most of his meals ended up on his face, the floor, smeared across the table, or thrown at his brothers. This was puzzling to Splinter, since Michelangelo had decided that everything else he could get his tiny hands on was edible.  The Ninjitsu Master found that most hours of his days were spent chasing the happy little turtle around their home and plucking various objects that were most definitely not food out of his mouth. When his son had gotten big enough to start feeding himself, he seemed to favor using his chopsticks as tools to snatch food from his brothers’ plates, drumming them against the table, and once, even inserted them into his nostrils. While this amused the other three turtles, Splinter had been less than thrilled.

Raphael knew without question what food was for, and he devoured his portions as quickly as he could manage as if he was afraid it would be taken from him at any moment, grabbing handfuls off his plate and stuffing his mouth until his cheeks were full. Splinter spent many meal times trying to convince Raphael to slow down and chew his food out of fear he might choke, and when his son did chew, he needed to be reminded to close his mouth when doing so. By the time he was old enough to use utensils he had mastered closed mouth chewing, but another rude habit had taken its place. Raphael had decided that the most efficient way to clear his plate was to lift it directly to his mouth and use his chopsticks to shovel his food directly inside- much to his Father’s chagrin.

Donatello was the opposite; he was extremely fussy when it came to eating and made feeding times a chore.  Back when Splinter still had to spoon feed his usually passive son, Donatello would lean back as far as he could, face scrunched up in displeasure and mouth firmly shut as he vigorously shook his head in disapproval. When Splinter managed to get the stubborn turtle to actually take a bite, there was no guarantee that he would not see it again.  If the algae was not just the right shade of green, or if the worms were wriggling a bit too much, Donatello would promptly spit it back out.  Any hopes of his table manners improving with age died young. Even when his son was fully capable of feeding himself, he needed to be monitored. After his usual bout of insisting that he was not hungry, Donatello would lean over until his elbow was resting on the table, propping his head in one hand while he stared at his plate morosely and picked at its contents. If he thought he was not being watched, he would try to move portions from his own plate onto Raphael’s- something his brother never complained about.

Leonardo had never given Splinter a single moment of trouble when it came to meal time. When he was small he sat perfectly still and opened his mouth wide to accept the spoonfulls offered to him, and he always chewed slowly and quietly, taking his time to savor his meal.  He was the first of his brothers to learn to feed himself and he was always very careful not to spill onto the floor or table. His only flaw was that if he did spill, something that was almost always marked with a whispered “oops” or a very loud apology, he would scoop the food back onto his plate, use his chopsticks to stir it back into the remaining morsels and then try again.  This was especially cringe worthy if the food had fallen onto the floor, though Leonardo did not seem to pay this any mind.

For the most part, meals with Leonardo were a peaceful, enjoyable experience.  Phrases like “itadakimasu” and “gochisousama” came naturally to him at the table without prompting as did “please” and “thank you”, and unlike Michelangelo, Raphael and Donatello- belches, loud chewing and sighs of boredom did not.  It was for this reason that Leonardo was the only son Splinter was willing to share his daily ritual of morning tea (not simply because he was the only turtle willing to wake up so early), it was a time spent in silence, but it was a bonding experience he relished nonetheless.

After he had finished any meal, without fail Leonardo would wait patiently for permission to leave the table, and when it was given, he would even pick up his plate and move it to the large, dented metal pail that Splinter had designated as the washing area for dirty dishes.  It was not something he had ever been asked to do; Leonardo had just figured it out on his own from observing his Father, eager to show both him and his brothers that he was both responsible and self-sufficient.

His son’s efforts to prove himself capable without the constant need for supervision or coddling were greatly appreciated. Yet, despite the fact that emotionally, the eldest was the most independent, Splinter found Leonardo looking up to him far more than the other three; he was always focused on their lessons, trying his best to mimic his Father’s movements in training in hopes of gaining approval. Often times Leonardo would request to join his Sensei in meditation outside their usual sessions.

 Ninjitsu was an art that was mastered not only with the focus over the mind and body but the spirit as well; Seishin teki kyoyo, spiritual refinement was a requirement for every true Ninja, the first step of which was achieving an understanding of oneself, of realizing one’s motivations and needs by looking deep within, and thus Splinter had made the practice of breathing techniques and meditation mandatory before the start of each of their lessons- a requirement only his oldest did not seem to object to.

 While he had yet to completely empty his mind and achieve full transcendence to the astral plane, it was clear that Leonardo was quickly developing a strong spiritual sense.

His eldest son always came to him first whenever he had a strange or distressing dream, but instead of seeking comfort as his other brothers were prone to do, Leonardo sought answers. The day they had first started practicing meditation Splinter had tried his best to explain the importance of finding one’s inner self and the secret messages in one’s dreams. Leonardo had been fascinated with the possible meanings behind his nightly visons, and Splinter enjoyed helping his son learn to correctly interpret them ever since.

The boy was still too young to fully appreciate the wisdom that came from internal reflection in this manner, but one day the Rat hoped that this practice would help his son find serenity in times of difficultly.    

There was little doubt that  Leonardo would face much difficulty as he grew older-He strived to be the best, at times too much so, and could not seem to understand why his brothers did not feel the need to do the same. He could be very bossy sometimes which could get on his brothers’ nerves. Whether it was the formalities of the dojo, the posture at the dinner table, to the way he liked to arrange his personal things in their shared bedroom “just so,” he seemed to have exceptionally high standards for himself.

 He also decided on his own that it was his job to correct his siblings when they made mistakes and constantly remind them of the rules which made him “a total tattle tale” as Raphael liked to phrase it, when it came to breaking them.

Even though his intentions were good natured, Leonardo had a poor habit of believing that he was always in the right. This might have made him the least liked brother, except he had one quality that they each admired; Bravery. Truly it seemed as if Leonardo was not afraid of anything. 

Being so deep underground, the lair grew very dark when Splinter decided it was time for “lights out”, and the strange noises created by the changing pressure inside the many pipes that were interwoven throughout their home, the rushing water of the sewers, and the many verminous creatures that also took residence under the city could be quite ominous and easily play tricks on the mind.

Whenever Michelangelo thought he heard strange noises outside their bedroom at night and could not sleep for fear of being eaten, it was always Leonardo who volunteered to check for any “boogeymen” that might be hiding in the dark.

Donatello would try his best to come up with a list of what could be responsible for the sounds, all of which were not a threat to their safety, but he did not leave his covers to investigate and prove any of his theories true.

Raphael would complain about his brother’s childish fear and insist that it was nothing, (whether it was to reassure his brothers or himself one could not say,) and was determined to go to sleep and ignore the sound, but he like Donatello, would not leave his pillow to go searching through the dark for unknown enemies that may or may not be the figment of a child’s overactive imagination.

Leonardo however was determined to see for himself that their home was indeed safe and that his Sensei did not need assistance in fighting off invaders, confident he had the abilities to do just that;

Shinobi-iri, the Ninja art of stealth and moving with the shadows, was one of the most important skills the young turtles would need to survive in this harsh world, and Splinter hoped that if they learned nothing else from him, they would at least master this- which is why he had decided to remain hidden in his own room and let his pupil “investigate” the imaginary threats in their home. He was curious as to how well his eldest student would put his lessons to use when he was not under his Sensei’s watchful gaze.  

Thanks to his own mutation, Splinter had been gifted with an extraordinary sense of hearing which made all the better to keep vigil over his sons, even when they were out of his sight, or he from theirs.

To his credit, Leonardo did show some excellent progress- one of the lessons in mastering the art of stealth was Joei-on jutsu, the concealment of sound; it required a great deal of patience not commonly found in young children. One needed to calm their heart rate and slow their breathing. This was simple enough to accomplish with instruction in the comfort of a controlled setting but to do so when facing the unknown was much easier said than done.  However, Splinter could tell that his son’s heart beats were calm and steady, his breaths were even and low, to human ears, they would be silent.

Unfortunately, Leonardo had yet to master the second half of the way of silence. His footfalls were heavy and echoed throughout the stone walls of their home. His shell bumped against what little furniture they had as he darted about the main room. More than once Splinter would hear his son try to muffle a tiny grunt when he would trip over an unseen object, followed by the sound of shell scraping against stone and a swift displacement of air; in his mind, he could clearly see the young turtle trying to roll and somersault away from the fall as if it had been intentional. Even when no one was watching Leonardo disliked appearing a failure.

Splinter could only allow his son’s antics to continue for a few minutes. Despite wanting to ensure that their home was secure and empty save for them, Leonardo’s loud movements were more likely to convince his brothers of the opposite.  Being careful not to startle the eldest too much, he would slowly walk out into the main room of the lair, small lit candle in hand, and watch his son’s eyes widen in shame as he rushed to explain why he had been caught out of bed when he was supposed to be asleep.

 While Leonardo did not like the idea of staying up past his bedtime (rest was important to a Ninja, especially little Ninjas as Splinter had told his sons time and time again) he liked the idea of something unknown prowling about their home and frightening Michelangelo even less.

Noble as his intentions were, it was hard to miss the smug look on the eldest’s face the mornings after when the youngest would praise the heroics his oldest brother had displayed during the night. It was equally hard to miss the less than subtle eye-rolls of his middle sons, though they voiced no disagreement.  

When a cockroach had climbed on top of Raphael’s favorite toy car and would not leave no matter how loudly the second oldest shouted at the accursed creature from the opposite (safe) side of the room, it was Leonardo who rescued the toy and disposed of the tiny intruder that was causing his brother such distress.

 Despite his current rodent form, Hamato Yoshi was still a man at heart, and he strived for cleanliness- an aspect of his Japanese heritage that to his dismay, many Americans did not seem to share. (The first time he had set foot in a New York public restroom had been absolutely horrific, the memory of it still caused him to shudder) Even though he had to take refuge in the sewers, he was diligent in making their home clean and free of pestilence and grime. He did not tolerate clutter, and was strict when it came to cleaning their eating areas and keeping their bedding neat and free of filth. But even with all his efforts, insects would still find their way into their home.

 The roaches that plagued New York City were quite large, and while Splinter held no fear of the skittering pests, he did not care for them either. They were disgusting and a nuisance. Michelangelo seemed hesitant to approach them, he did not necessarily appear fearful, but he also held no desire to touch the roaches either. Donatello had been curious the first time he spotted the insect. While he had yet to come closer than a couple of feet from one prior to the “incident”, he seemed intent on silently observing and studying the small creatures.

 Both his of his youngest sons had jumped in surprise when they heard Raphael cry out at the sight of the roach, shocked at his outburst and unsure of what to do. They were even more startled when Leonardo boldly stepped forth and smashed the repulsive beetle beneath his bare foot, making a loud and unpleasant “crunch” and “squish” sound that had his three brothers cringing.

While he was less than pleased with the mess that clung to his heel, he seemed satisfied with his choice- seeing it as no more than a mundane task that needed to be done, much like the chores they all shared, and ignored the remains of his slain enemy in favor of checking to make sure Raphael was alright.

While his act of heroism had been appreciated, his brother’s only show of gratitude had been to warn the oldest not to come anywhere near him until he had washed off the “roach guts” along with a threat of what would happen if he failed to do so… A threat that Leonardo answered with an amused chuckle.

From that day forward Donatello made a frantic effort to scoop up any errant insects and rush them off to safety whenever Leonardo entered the room, leaving his brother quite confused.   

When his sons turned four years of age, Splinter had started them on swimming lessons in a pool of rainwater from a runoff basin.

Swimming was a necessary life skill, the tunnels that surrounded their home were constantly flowing with water, and (though he hoped that day would never come) should enemies seek them out in the sewers, they would need to make use of Sui-ren, the Ninja art of stealth in water, in order to evade capture, but first they would need to prove they could handle the basics, such as the “doggy paddle”.

Initially, he had mixed reactions from his sons;

 Michelangelo was beyond thrilled and easily took to the water, merrily splashing about, (much to Raphael’s annoyance) easily out pacing his brothers as he swam lap after lap around the pool and diving beneath the surface. The youngest “loved” swimming, and did not hesitate to proclaim so very loudly. It was a wonder that his shouts were not heard from the city streets as Splinter was certain that the volume of his son’s voice could carry for miles in the underground system.

 Raphael had been suspicious at first; for some reason, he detested bath time as if he held a vendetta. The accusatory looks he had given his Father told the Rat that his most stubborn son believed this was a trick, and the pool nothing more than an oversized tub. However, at the cajoling of his youngest brother, Raphael dove into the water in attempt to catch the smaller turtle. But after it was clear that he could not match his younger brother’s speed, he instead decided to challenge him to a contest of who could hold their breath the longest, and it was not long before the two of them were engaged in laughter and friendly water play.

 Donatello however was too scared to go into the water (despite his Father’s assurances that as a turtle he would be fine). It was clear by his expression that he wanted to join in his brothers’ fun. It was not often that they played a game that did not lead to a wrestling match between them (a pastime he disliked immensely since he often found himself at the bottom of the pile) and Splinter had insisted that he would not tolerate any form of rough housing in the water, so Donatello did not wish to be left out. But every time he got near the edge of the small pool he simply froze, staring down at the water with panic in his eyes.

Admittedly, the water was a bit deep, the bottom was not clearly visible, and had his sons been entirely human, Splinter would never have considered it safe enough to teach his small sons how to swim.

 But as it was, they were turtles.

 Just as he had inherited enhanced senses from the animalistic side of his own mutation, he was certain that his sons had retained their instinctive nature to swim, though apparently Donatello disagreed.

 He did not dismiss his son’s fear of drowning, though he assured him that he would never let such a thing happen, but all his attempts to get his most intelligent son to step foot in the water fell on deaf ears.

  It was Leonardo who stepped in at that point. His tone was calm and his own expression confident as he took his brother’s hand in his own and promised not to let go the entire time.  It was a testament to the trust they had in one another that Donatello slowly nodded his consent and the two of them gradually stepped into the pool together.

 It was a bittersweet moment- the look of pure terror on his quietest son’s face pulled at his heart. Watching him cling to the eldest as if he were a lifeline, the only thing preventing him from sinking to a watery grave, was enough to make the Father in him want to scoop the young turtle boy out of the water himself and let him wait for his brothers to finish. But the teacher in him knew that this was something Donatello needed to overcome and he would be doing him no favors to coddle him now.

Luckily, Leonardo was not bothered by his younger brother’s clingy behavior. He kept his promise and did not let go even once. This became difficult once he had managed to calm Donatello down enough to dare to venture out further towards their more energetic brothers-

The four of them had decided to play a game of water tag, and both Raphael and Michelangelo were taking advantage of Leonardo’s much slower pace whilst he had Donatello in tow.  Despite the disadvantage it gave him, (as well as the merciless teasing) his grasp held firm and he did not release his hold until both he and Donatello were fully out of the water.

While disappointed that Donatello could not be convinced to enter the pool on his own; Splinter was more than proud of Leonardo’s solution.  He had seen his brother in need and did not hesitate to come to his aid. There was no doubt he would do so again.  

 As pushy as he could be, Leonardo also looked out for each of his siblings. They may not always agree with what he said, or like what he told them to do, but they never doubted that they could rely on him- through every difficult or unpleasant situation, they instinctively turned to the calmness of spirit that flowed from the eldest, giving them all a sense of security, it was an energy of purity that blossomed from a Ki point at his throat. Indeed, Splinter had high hopes for his most dependable son and gifted him with a blue mask.

 

 

Raphael was the second oldest in Splinter’s mind. Although he was certainly the biggest out of all of them he did not act as mature as Leonardo tried to be.  Raphael was full of emotions yet the one he chose to display the most was anger- a trait that may lead him into trouble one day since he also had the poor habit of acting almost entirely on instinct rather than thinking things through. He did not like being told what to do and he was the most likely one to break the rules Splinter had set out for his sons. This often led to him and the oldest getting into frequent arguments which nearly always resulted in an undignified brawl between the two.

 Raphael also tended to use his bigger size to push his brothers around and get his way; whether his goal was to be the first to get to the table for meals or claiming a favorite toy for himself, the strongest turtle had somehow fallen under the mistaken impression that “might makes right.” Though Splinter found that gently employing a particularly painful pressure point just below Raphael’s ear made him reconsider this philosophy from time to time (a behavior correction technique he might have felt guilty about using had his own Father not used it on him).

 On a purely physical sense, Raphael had the most potential.

 Despite not being as cautious as Leonardo, or concerned about hygiene as Donatello, he was the healthiest and rarely did he ever get sick, even when the seasons changed and temperatures dropped dreadfully low, (a time that always caused the Rat great concern considering his sons’ reptilian nature,) his injuries were quick to heal,( save for a chip in his plastron that he had acquired the day of their mutation when Yoshi had dropped him and his brothers after being splashed with the glowing ooze- that he did feel guilty about) and he had the most endurance- which served him well once they had begun their lessons in hand to hand combat.

Raphael breezed through all of the beginner’s katas of Daken-taijutsu; though he lacked Leonardo’s grace and attention to form, his punches and kicks held the most force without over extending himself, his blocks as immovable as a stone wall, and his counter attacks left his brothers in a daze.

 While Splinter felt his second eldest was already prepared to move on to learning the basics of Jutai-jatsu, grappling and submission holds, he felt it would not be wise to allow him to advance so quickly, at least not until his brothers were better prepared to handle their most vigorous sibling.

 Raphael was quite proud of his strength, (he also needed the most reminding of the virtue of being modest) and was not at all subtle in holding that over his brothers. To anyone else, the largest turtle would seem to come off as a bully. But that was not the case.

 When Leonardo had fallen ill with a bad cough and fever, Raphael was adamant about staying by his brother’s bedside the entire night and told Splinter that he would run and fetch him should Leonardo awaken and require anything.

As much as the two of them fought, seeing his older brother in such pain was distressing to him, and though he tried to hide it, Splinter had not missed the silent tears that had gathered at the corners of his son’s green eyes, nor had he mentioned it. He knew his son well; while he was quite loud in expressing his displeasure, he preferred to show his affection quietly, but it was no less intense or sincere.

 When Leonardo began to recover, Raphael had a smile that warmed his Father’s heart, and he was nothing but encouraging and playful in his talks with his older brother as he slowly regained his health. As soon as the eldest was back on his feet the two resumed their normal routine of bickering and competing in almost everything they did, but Splinter had no doubt that there was still love behind every harsh word and pointed glare.

 When Michelangelo had been climbing on the tops of the station benches to show off his balance (even though he had been warned time and again not to) and fell, scraping his knee, Raphael wasted no time picking up his injured sibling and carrying him to their father on his back to be treated as if his brother’s very survival depended on it.

The injury was minor; certainly not one that warranted being carried around like an invalid, nor the excessive amount of tears that the freckled turtle seemed to be able to summon on a whim, but the look of concern on the second eldest’s face had been most genuine.

 Raphael himself had been responsible for a fair share of his brother’s scrapes and bruises, be it in sparring practice or merely lashing out, and Splinter had no doubt that he would continue to do so in the future as Michelangelo seemed to find joy in seeing how far he could test the limits of his older brother’s temper.

 But as much as his temperamental son felt the need to retaliate with fists rather than words to the smaller turtle’s teasing (sometimes excessively) he felt an equal need to protect him from harm.  It was amazing how quickly he could go from threatening the youngest within an inch of his life to safeguarding him against all the dangers of the world.  

 While Splinter had made it a personal rule never to mention the words “laboratories” or “dissection” when explaining to his sons why they had to remain hidden, he had a feeling Donatello had come to certain conclusions on his own.

Whenever the second youngest woke up in the middle of the night, in tears over a nightmare where cruel humans had found him and taken him away, Raphael, though not known for displays of affection, would hug him tight, promising that if any human ever did try to take him away  he would “beat them black and blue.”

Then, with a tenderness that one might not think possible for the usually volatile turtle, he would pull Donatello under the covers with him so he could protect his sibling from any more bad dreams for the rest of the night, holding him closely even as they slept. If any such intruders did manage to find their hidden lair, they would have a difficult time prying Donatello from his brother’s arms. 

As a Father, he did not like seeing his son so upset, he knew that this fear was a real one and one that he himself shared, but he also could not help but smile at the image of his strongest and smartest sons cuddled so close together under the blankets- amazed at the latter’s ability to ignore the formers loud snores, contently drifting into a peaceful slumber knowing he was safe so long as he was in his brother’s secure hold. Splinter dared not use the word “adorable”, knowing his sons would surely object to being referred to in such a manner, but he was hard pressed to find another term that fit such a rare sight...

Raphael was known to frequently dismiss his intelligent brother’s discoveries as “boring”, and the first to grow impatient at Donatello’s constant use of large words and lengthy sentences -though he suspected that Raphael admired his brother’s wit and thirst for knowledge more than he would ever admit aloud; while he did not openly praise Donatello’s efforts, he did thoroughly enjoy his brother’s innovations that so often made their humble home more comfortable, and, while he often averted his eyes when doing so as if the thought of looking at Donatello directly would cause him embarrassment, he was known to ask his brother to repair a toy that had caught his interest. Though Splinter highly suspected it was not embarrassment, but guilt.

Indeed it was Raphael who first labeled the smartest son with unfavorable titles that, for the life of him, Splinter could not determine how or where his son had learned them, as words such as “nerd”, “brainiac” and “geek” were certainly not in his own vocabulary and even more so not words that he would ever teach his sons (after calling his brother such names, surely asking him for help was a lesson in humility). 

The second eldest was also the first to mock Donatello for his shortcomings in the dojo, placing higher value in brawn than brain (despite his Sensei’s many lectures that both were of equal importance). The smaller turtle had yet to be the victor in a sparring match between them, something Raphael found endless amusement in. He had recently developed a habit of ending their practices by sitting on his brother’s shell, a pinning tactic he reserved exclusively for Donatello. Hopefully this was just a phase that Raphael would grow out of.

Furthermore, Raphael did not enjoy being awoken pre-maturely (he was the second most difficult to wake up for training, the honor for first place belonging to Michelangelo) nor did he care for his brothers invading his space- though they all currently shared a room, he made a show of sectioning off an area that he claimed as his own, and thus off limits to the others.

 One would expect that seeing his brother so weak and vulnerable over a dream, disturbing him in the middle of the night, would not lead to a pleasant outcome.

But Raphael did not ridicule when his brothers were truly afraid. He could torment them relentlessly, yes. But he also loved them relentlessly. As much as he made fun of Donatello, he wished him no ill will or heartache; he would much rather take such pains on himself.  Raphael was a protector.

Despite his reluctance to admit it, he used his strength to shield his brothers. He had difficulty verbally expressing his emotions and his love for his family, so he spoke with actions which had the risk of being misinterpreted.

 His brothers called him “hot head” but Splinter knew better, he called him passionate- a trait that encompassed his entire being with Ki stemming from the root of his spine where it met with the base of his tail- and so, he gave Raphael a red mask to wear.

 

 

Donatello was third oldest in the Rat’s humble opinion. He was not as fearless as Leonardo nor was he as strong as Raphael. But that did not mean he lacked qualities that were admirable in a Ninja.  Donatello was smartest of his sons and very curious- this tended to lead him into trouble when he would wander around their home, taking things apart in order to figure out how they worked, but it also led to benefits when he discovered how to put them back together, as proven when he had discovered pipes that could be manipulated to release steam and fill their home with much needed heat during the winter, and again when he stumbled across the location of a hidden power box that, with some creative wrapping to frayed wires, had restored a small degree of electricity to the derelict station, reducing their dependency on half melted candles for light. 

Donatello had been the first of the turtles to start speaking and as he grew his vocabulary seemed much more advanced than what it would have been for any other child his age; by the time they were three, all the turtles had begun consistently asking “Why?” but it was the third oldest who continued his questioning with “How?”

Splinter had found himself “truly stumped” as one might say when he had shown his sons working subway cars for the first time in an effort to identify things they must avoid. As they watched the loud train zip past with incredible speed, all of his sons had wanted to know why they had to stay away from this wondrous object.

He easily explained to them that because the train was so fast it could run them over. When they asked why the train moved so fast, he just as easily explained that it was because there were humans inside who needed to travel from one place to another very quickly. Three of his sons nodded their heads in understanding and were ready to continue on with their lesson on the dangers outside their home.

 When Donatello still seemed pensive on the matter, Splinter had prepared himself to tell the turtle that the reason why humans needed to travel so quickly was because they had many things to do each day, as the outside world was a very busy and crowded place. But the question Donatello asked was not the one he had been expecting at all…

 The second youngest was not interested in why the train moved so fast, but rather how it managed to do so.

In all honesty, the man turned rat did not know. He knew it had something to do with the electricity that ran through the rails throughout the underground system, but beyond that it was something that he had never paid much mind to.

It was for this reason that he made the decision to teach his sons English. While it was far simpler to interact them in Nihongo, his native tongue, it was clear that there were many things he would not be able to teach them from his memory alone (and the likelihood of finding Japanese school books and learning aids in the dumpsters and junkyards of New York was slim at best). 

Not surprisingly, Donatello was also the first to start reading, something he excelled at quite quickly- while his brothers were still struggling with a colorful book about a mischievous cat wearing a tall striped hat, Donatello was already engrossed in a picture-less book called “Treasure Island.”

 More than once, after the four of them were supposed to be asleep, Splinter had peeked into their room during the night to find Donatello using a flashlight he had found and repaired to read aloud from this book while his other sons huddled close and listened with a rapt attention he wished they would display during training.

As much as he had wanted to scold them for staying up so late, seeing the looks on their faces, completely mesmerized by the story, and Donatello’s own delighted smile at having his siblings hang on to his every word- even altering his voice slightly for different characters at the youngest’s request, he had dismissed the idea of directly reprimanding them and instead decided that putting them through extra paces during training in the morning would serve as an adequate reminder of the importance of a full night of sleep.    

Unfortunately, these precious moments were few and far between, as his smartest son’s obsession with learning everything around him began to make him less social than his brothers.

Donatello would rather quietly read his books than wrestle around with the other turtles during playtime. When the four of them did play together, it was not unheard of for Donatello to excuse himself from their activities early- mostly as a result of either Donatello or his brothers becoming irritated when the former was unable to communicate in terms simple enough for the latter to understand, which would lead to the shy turtle avoiding speaking at all until dinnertime.

 At first, Splinter had feared that Donatello’s intelligence would create a barrier between him and his brothers, but this was not so.

 While his brothers may have enjoyed teasing him over his physical struggles in training, he did not return the favor when they struggled in areas where he himself excelled.  When Leonardo became frustrated with his schoolwork, Donatello would sit beside him and show him an easier way to add up the numbers (using mental tricks he had come up with himself) or helping him sound out the word he was having difficulty with.

 Splinter had no doubt this was difficult on Leonardo’s part- his eldest worked hard at everything he did and did not react well to failure. Truth be told, Splinter had not even realized that he was struggling at first- Leonardo seemed to think his Father would be disappointed in him and had not once asked for help, choosing instead to feign comprehension.

 But somehow Donatello had noticed his brother’s difficulty, a unique level of intuition surprising for one so young, and had taken it upon himself to aid the eldest. It was a harsh blow for Leonardo to have such a hard time learning something his younger brother achieved with ease, but it was a blow that was softened by that very brother.

 Donatello never once mocked Leonardo for his slower pace, nor did he ridicule him for his obvious mistakes even though the temptation to do so was surely great considering how often Leonardo tended to correct Donatello on his katas; loudly pointing out what he had done wrong and insisting he mimic his own movements in order to do each form properly (much to his brother’s embarrassment and his Sensei’s annoyance).

Even though Donatello took pride in the fact that he was far above his brothers in an academic sense, (sometimes to the point where he was as boastful as Raphael was of his strength) he did not view it as a way to humiliate them. While it must have been frustrating for him to pause his own progress in favor of bringing his brother up to speed, Donatello did not make Leonardo feel incompetent nor a burden.

When Michelangelo was inconsolable after his favorite toy, a stuffed bear, had lost one of its arms during a tug-o-war match with Raphael, Donatello spent hours re-attaching the limb and re-enforcing it so that the incident would not re-occur. A difficult feat considering their lack of supplies to make such mends (Splinter had discovered the remains of a traveler’s emergency sewing kit that contained five needles and a single button, but the closest thing he could find to thread was a discarded wad of tangled up fishing line), that and the fact that while their mutation had made his sons more human than animal, they still had limitations-

Each of his sons only possessed three fingers. While as dexterous as any human appendages, they were bulky and a bit clumsy, and sometimes his sons were not even aware of their own strength - this was hardly ideal for delicate work, and Donatello had accidently snapped two needles in half between his fingers while just trying to hold them still.

 It was easy to see the frustration on his most intelligent son’s face as he grappled with tools too small and fragile for his large hands. (Splinter had offered to thread the needle since he possessed hands better suited for the task, but Donatello had been determined to do it himself). The toy was not his. He had not been involved in the skirmish that led to its disrepair, and more than once, albeit unintentionally, Michelangelo had been responsible for damaging Donatello’s own things.

 While Raphael had been scolded for his behavior, Michelangelo had been reminded that the bear was merely a possession- while it was wrong of his brother to break it; it was still an item that could be replaced. Michelangelo had not been satisfied with this, and although it did not affect him directly, neither had Donatello.  Even though he had many projects of his own to keep him occupied that were far more interesting, he had insisted on mending his brother’s favorite toy- simply because it was precious to him.

 His determination to accomplish this challenging task inspired his innovative side, visualizing his goal and working around his physical obstacles;

Using a slightly chewed cork bottle stopper as a makeshift pin cushion, Donatello was able to safely hold the needle in his hands as he concentrated on threading the fishing line through without fear of it snapping in his grip. Once the needle was threaded, he would remove it from the cork and stick the dull, threaded head of the needle into the eraser of an overly large, novelty pencil that had been broken in half. With the wood of the pencil as a handle, he would then push the sharp point of the needle as far as it would go into the toy before the fabric touched the pink rubber head of the former writing utensil.

 He even made use of the bandages on his fingers, placed there when the broken pieces of needle from his previous attempts had pricked his skin. Rolling up the edges so that the stickier side was partially exposed, he was able to better grip the small needle and finish pulling it through before replacing it back onto his pencil handle for the next stitch.

 The process was quite time consuming, but it was certainly effective. Donatello was rewarded for his generous efforts with little more than a brief hug (well, perhaps “squeeze” was a better word for it) and a rushed “thank you”, but he seemed pleased nonetheless, relieved even.

 And the time Raphael had planned to run away after being scolded for losing his temper yet again, only to come home shaking with tears having discovered an injured and very ill tortoise that had been cruelly cast into the sewers- it was Donatello who comforted him, who gave his brother assurances while he stayed up late into the night and even tried to skip meals in favor of searching through every book he could find to learn all he could on how to treat the injured animal; and while he was certain that Raphael’s insistence on remaining by Donatello’s side during the entire ordeal, hovering over his shoulder and non-stop inquires on his progress, was no doubt more of a hindrance than a help, not once did Donatello push his brother away.

 It was as if he knew that simply being there was what Raphael needed, and as frustrating as that must have been, he gave him that comfort with no objection. This was remarkable, not because he was successful, but because the reason that Raphael had run off in the first place, the reason he had been scolded so harshly, was because he had lost his temper with Donatello.

While neither of his middle sons would admit to what had started the argument, it had ended with Raphael striking his younger brother a hard blow that cost him his front tooth- one that regrettably had already been lost a year prior and would not emerge again. While the physical pain was most unpleasant, the look in his son’s eyes as he held a bloody rag against his swollen mouth and was sadly told he would live the rest of his life with a gap in his teeth had been heartbreaking to behold.

Certainly, he had expected his second youngest to hold a great deal of resentment towards Raphael. But there was no anger to be found in those auburn eyes when they looked upon the brother that had done him such harm.  Raphael was equally surprised at his brother’s forgiveness despite his own lack of apology.

But watching his second eldest lean in so closely to hear his brother’s every word, and the subtle pained expression that would flash across his face whenever Donatello would run his tongue between his tooth-gap without thought, was proof that Raphael truly regretted his actions- and on some level, perhaps Donatello sensed this as well, and accepted it silently.

 As proud as Splinter was of his brilliant son’s mind and ingenuity, he was even prouder of his compassion, a trait that spoke clearly through his actions and shone brightly where his Ki focused the strongest on his brow between his eyes, which is why he gave him a purple mask to call his own.

 

 

There could be no doubt that Michelangelo was the “baby” of the family. Leonardo would boss others around to get his way, Raphael would shove and Donatello would reason, but Michelangelo used tears to get what he wanted. More often than not, it seemed like what he wanted was to get his brothers in trouble.

 He loved to pester and tease his older siblings but the minute any of them tried to retaliate, his youngest son would turn and run to him for protection, burying watery eyes in his robe and complaining of “mean older brothers.” A display that would have been far more convincing if the blue eyed turtle was not bouncing away and giggling with mirth no more than a heartbeat later when something else caught his attention.

 But trouble was not the only thing his youngest sought; being the most affectionate of the four, Michelangelo made it a point to hug each of his brothers at least once every day without fail, whether they wished it or not.

 Splinter looked forward to his daily hug, treasured it, he knew one day his boys would grow into young adults too mature and too proud for such displays of affection towards their Father, just as he had.  He could only cherish these moments while they lasted. Though he suspected Michelangelo’s moments may last far longer than the others.

This was not a bad thing, for his youngest could always be counted on to be the first to comfort any of his brothers, even outmatching his own father, which was no small feat;

 Whether it was the animal nature of his mutation, his enhanced sense of awareness gained from years of Ninjitsu training, or the sixth sense that all parents seemed to inherit concerning their children, Splinter could always tell the moment something was amiss and would quickly rush to the child’s aid- but as fast as his reflexes were, somehow he always arrived to find Michelangelo already at the scene with his arms wrapped tightly around whichever of his brothers had become upset, doing his best to soothe his sibling’s tears in the only way he knew how.  

Seeing his son so naturally gifted with such speed at a moment’s notice and seemingly from thin air, Splinter had a feeling Michelangelo would be the first of his sons to master Intonjutsu, the Ninja art of escape and concealment.    

Unfortunately the energetic turtle was also the first to complain when it came time to do chores or schoolwork, and due to his inability to sit still and pay attention for very long he often became a distraction to his more focused brothers. Raphael had once suggested that they might be able to trade him in for a dog instead, much to Michelangelo’s protest.

While Splinter had not found Raphael’s joke as amusing as his other two sons seemed to, he also knew that Raphael would not trade his youngest brother for anything. None of them would, their lives would be far too dull without him.

Their sixth mutation day (an alternative to a birthday celebration for them since their true dates of birth were a mystery to him) would forever be ingrained in his memory as the fateful beginning of a new era of shenanigans for the youngest turtle…

 While on one of his many scavenging runs he had come across a half empty bag labeled “Latex Party Balloons”, and had decided it would be a suitable gift for his adopted sons on their annual festivities.  Though he had no means to obtain the helium needed to make the party favors float, he had a feeling that they would be just as entertaining inflated with simple air.

Indeed all four enjoyed swatting the balloons about, having made a game of trying to keep them aloft as long as possible, making mad dashes to prevent any from touching the ground. It had even been amusing when Raphael and Leonardo had discovered that by gripping the knotted tail end of the inflated balloons, they could wield them as rotund, harmless clubs against one another (it seemed those two could turn anything into a competition).

 Michelangelo had forgone participating in the “balloon bashing” as his brothers called it, in favor of watching Donatello who was far more intrigued by the possibilities of the brightly colored latex toy.

Splinter had felt the inquisitive turtle watching him with fascination when he first inflated four of the balloons to a moderate size and it had soon become clear that Donatello was curious as to just how much more the rubber could expand. Rather than comment on his son’s lack of stealth, he chose to pretend not to notice as the turtle snatched a handful of the balloons from the bag and scurried off to a corner for closer inspection.

Unfortunately, the odd shape of his mouth prevented him from blowing an adequate amount of air inside the balloons, but that did not stop him. His most innovative son decided to make use of a water faucet in the Subway Restroom to fill the balloon, and watched with amazement as it expanded to what the rat would guess as twice the size of a Yubari melon, before it exploded into a mess of liquid and bits of latex.

 Fearing his son would try to see if he could repeat his experiment with similar results, Splinter employed his skills in Yogi Gakure, the Ninja art of redirection; quickly inflating another balloon himself, he swiftly rubbed it against the fur of his forearm before pressing it against one of the many pillars that supported the ceiling of their underground home where it stuck in place.

His maneuver was successful and Donatello lost all interest in playing with the faucet and instead immersed himself in discovering the wonders of static electricity. But Michelangelo, for once in his young life, was not so easily distracted. 

There was no way to be sure what was going on in the small turtle’s head as he carefully attached the opening of an empty balloon to the spout of the faucet as his brother had done, though it was quite suspicious when he only filled it to half the size Donatello had managed before he slowly turned off the water and, with an admirable amount of focus, tied off the end.

Seeing as his youngest had not recreated his immediate older brother’s mess, he had contented himself to watch with silent intrigue as the small turtle waddled out to the far side of the main room, cradling the bloated toy in his arms as if it were something precious. His whiskers twitched with a smile when Michelangelo gently placed the balloon on one of the cushioned benches as if he were putting a small child to bed.

His smile faded, however, when his son climbed atop the bench as well, picking the toy up once more as he stood to his full height. By the time realization dawned on him, he could only watch in astonishment as his youngest lifted the water filled balloon above his head before hurling it with all of his might towards his two oldest and unsuspecting brothers, whose only warning was an odd form of battle cry that Michelangelo seemed to invent on the spur of the moment; “Booyakasha!”  

The splash and resounding yelps of surprise that echoed throughout the stone walls of their lair would be the first of many to follow for what Splinter had no doubt would be years to come. 

While he appreciated the boy’s creative sense of humor and positive outlook, he wished he could find a way to channel his son’s energy into something more productive. However, he could not deny that Michelangelo’s silliness did indeed have its advantages.

Whenever Leonardo was angry with himself because he still had not managed to perform a kata correctly or saddened because he had gotten into another spat with their second oldest brother, Michelangelo was right there to cheer him up with a loving embrace and would then spend the rest of the day telling silly jokes and making absurd faces until Leonardo was smiling and laughing again.

Raphael and Donatello often complained about their eldest brother and at times this made Leonardo quite defensive. Michelangelo seemed to take his brother with a grain of salt. Though he received just as much criticism from Leonardo as his other brothers, he rarely took it personally, more often he ignored it. While this could aggravate the eldest, it also forced him to let go, if only for a brief moment.

 While Michelangelo’s… unorthodox techniques and unique methods of outmaneuvering his brother in sparring often left Leonardo puzzled, it also managed to make him smile. Splinter suspected at times that perhaps that was the true goal behind his youngest son’s antics. 

Whenever Donatello had read something new that he wanted to share, or had an idea that he wanted to try out, or just repaired an item that he was eager to show off but his other brothers were simply not interested, Michelangelo was nothing less than enthusiastic and eager to see what new strange thing had captured his clever brother’s attention.

 Donatello was often impatient with his youngest brother- while Michelangelo could be as curious as himself, he did not exercise caution (or even common sense) which led to many of his brother’s projects being damaged or spilled across the floor.

 And, like his older brothers, much of what Donatello said was lost to him, perhaps even more so at times. Truly, the youngest required further explanation on everything his brother said, even needing the aid of Raphael and Leonardo to further simplify things at times.

 But this did not hamper his efforts to spend time with Donatello, nor did it make him lose interest. Even though his younger brother’s tom foolery and lack of understanding was a point of annoyance to his most brilliant son, it was apparent that the youngest’s attention was nevertheless appreciated. Though Donatello may be introverted at times, he did not enjoy being ignored, and Michelangelo made sure that he never felt so. 

 Whenever Raphael let his anger get the best of him, he had a bad habit of taking it out on his brothers. They took this very personally and would make a show of avoiding him for hours even after he had apologized (though this was probably more due to the fact that his apologies were terse and only forthcoming by Splinter’s own stern insistence). But Michelangelo could never stay mad at anyone for long and it was always the youngest who would be the first to invite Raphael to play again, always with a smile on his freckled cheeks as if no ill will had ever befallen him.

This was quite surprising since Michelangelo was the one most likely to be the target of Raphael’s temper. 

Michelangelo loved playing tricks on his siblings. Raphael enjoyed Michelangelo’s mischief when it was at the expense of his other brothers; however he had very little tolerance when it was at his own. 

While Leonardo and Donatello were quick to lash out at their brother verbally for his childish behavior, they were not above retaliating in a physical manner as well. But Raphael seemed to take things far more personally and much to his Father’s disapproval, reacted far more violently. If Michelangelo were to come to tears over being struck by one of his brothers, Raphael was almost always the culprit.  

However, the youngest never held any grudge against his brother, nor did he ever hesitate or think twice of pestering Raphael again.  As rash as his second eldest could be, Splinter knew that he did not enjoy losing his patience with his brothers and truly regretted it any time he did them real harm.

Michelangelo was as quick to forgive and forget as he was to over-react, something Raphael was thankful for.

While the many disagreements between the four of them might threaten to make their relationships crumble, Michelangelo’s ability to bounce back from any upset and make his brothers smile helped relieve tension and kept their bond strong. If asked to describe his youngest in one word, Splinter would choose “Resilient”.

 Michelangelo’s joy was never ending, and the vibrant amount of Ki that radiated from the chakra below his naval near his pelvic region suggested that the orange mask Splinter presented to him would suit him perfectly.

 

 

Taking another sip of his tea, a smile formed on Splinter’s long muzzle as he thought of his sons:

 The look of wonder in Leonardo’s pale blue (at times nearly silver) eyes and his admiration of the brave captain in his brother’s book; as much the oldest wanted to prove himself a responsible adult, he was still a child filled with innocence and dreams of adventure- just as he had once been when he was young.

Raphael’s complacent expression as he spoke softly to the rescued tortoise he had fondly given the name “Spike”; he had been hesitant at first in letting Raphael keep the animal, he feared a pet might be too much responsibility for a boy his age, but his second oldest’s concern over the creature’s wellbeing had moved him, and seeing how caring for “Spike” seemed to have a therapeutic effect, he was glad he had given in to his son’s request.

Donatello’s look of barely contained excitement when he had discovered a broken metal box floating in the sewer near a runoff drain that let out to the city dump; He told his middle son that the box was known as a “Television set,” but it was so badly broken it would not be worth the effort of dragging it back to their home, but his son had pleaded with him, eager to try to fix the strange new device, and who knows, maybe one day he would succeed? It never ceased to amaze him the things Donatello could accomplish once he set his mind to something.

Finally, Michelangelo’s smile that never failed to greet him in the morning, despite his reluctance to leave his bed and start the day; His youngest never failed to fill the room with happiness. While it may be nothing more than the result of being young and naïve, his optimism was still a breath of fresh air in the dank, stale confines of their home and it often helped Splinter keep his own thoughts from turning down the path of despair.  He hoped Michelangelo would never outgrow his smile.

 

 They may not have been born of his flesh and blood, but they were his children none the less; each one unique and extraordinary in their own way, each one finding a way into his heart.  As painful as the events leading up to his current condition were he could not look upon them with total regret, for they had given him something truly wonderful; his beloved sons.

 

Speaking of his beloved sons….

 The large Rat twitched his ear. When you had four rambunctious boys at the age of seven, silence was always suspicious.

 He had just been about to abandon his tea in favor of investigating the lack of noise in their underground home when the oddly comforting sounds of a quarrel drifted in from the next room.   He smiled and returned to his seated position near the sapling that he had planted inside what he hoped would one day become a fully furnished dojo. There had yet to be any shouting or tears, so there was no reason he could not resume enjoying his tea.

 He shook his head and took in another deep breath.

“Kids…”

 


End file.
